


Obumbratio Eius

by Echo0112358



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Kaz, BAMF everyone, Blackmail, F/M, Family Secrets, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Plot Twists, Political Alliances, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tragic Backstories All Around - Seriously, Worldbuilding, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo0112358/pseuds/Echo0112358
Summary: There was something different about Kaz Brekker.With a miraculously intact crew, and a firm grasp on his position as leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel is faced with building his ever growing empire. Nina is slowly eating her way through her engagement to Matthias; plans for an expedition to Fjerda on the horizon. Jesper and Wylan are steadily reinventing the Van Eck estate, carefully divvying investments. Inej just recently returning from her first bounty run, invigorated by righteous purpose.Then, a letter embossed with the Lantsov family crest arrives, containing a request for immediate assistance. With a Darkling worshipping cult, a missing court Squaller, and a financially desperate king; Kaz must assemble the gang for one more mission, one he would prefer to have no involvement in.Old wounds will be reoppened, revelations will be made, and the true motive behind friend and foe alike will be unveiled.The Question is: Who is Kaz Brekker?





	1. Prologue

It was the way he walked.

Not the slight tilt to his gait or the effortlessly long strides, but the way each step was self assured. Something earned, years of clawing his way to the top of the Barrel’s food chain affording him the privilege. Yet, underneath the guise of criminal repute, that confidence came from an ingrained corner of his mind; flashes of a past long buried.

Left. 

Right.

Left. 

Walking the streets of Ketterdam, on an evening such as this, you could almost feel storm in the smoky air; the western currents carrying with them a warm front off the coast of Novyi Zem. The atmosphere was heavy, in the most straightforward of senses. Strolling along the Government District, that dark set of eyes pause at the sight of the Ravkan Embassy. Pillars of grey stone adorned by the scrawling words of the nation’s national anthem stared back at the young man. The double headed eagle emblazoned on the raised flag seemed to shift, the fabric snapping in the breeze.

Now, let it be known, that he was not one for sentimentality; so when a collection of old remembrances bubbled to the surface, he was quick snuff them out. Turning sharply away from the desolate building, he replaced thoughts of golden hair and laughter with ones of festering hate and vengeance.  


The figure was like a shadow, cutting his way down to the 5th Harbor, all presence yet no words. Not a single soul dared approach, the clack of cane on cobbles alerting those of the East Stave to his arrival. Rumors of glittering courts and elaborate schemes had spread quickly among the masses, and hushed whispers swirled in the night.  


All different versions of a questionable truth.

You see, it was never just about the heist or the money or even Rollins; for him, it was about what lay beyond the True Sea, east of the farthest Kerch port. Or rather, who. With the sullen creak of the docks beneath tailored heels, he let himself wonder about what could have been. Amongst the blackened surf and shrouded moon, weary eyes shuttered closed; chest releasing a shaky breath. Gloved fingers clenching around haunting crow likeness. 

Only question was: would he stick with his hand, or fold and bet on another game?

For this story to be told, one must understand a key fact: he was not like most people. In fact, there was no one like him; at least, not anymore.

Kaz Brekker was different, and it all started with the way he walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an idea I've had floating around in my head for a while. It starts off roughly a month after the end of Crooked Kingdom (with a fully alive Matthias), and will veer extremely off course. In my head I have a different backstory for Kaz in mind. If anyone thinks I should continue this, or have any other thoughts just leave them in the comments! I always love hearing what other people think :)


	2. Inej

Amidst the darkest corners and thick umbra of the city’s rooftops, Inej sat perched upon the parapets of the Crow Club; limbs coiled in anticipation. The heavy air carried with it a distinct scent, one she never thought she would miss, yet a foriegn nostalgia filled a long abandoned corner of her heart. The sounds of Ketterdam’s nightlife echoed between the slanted alleys, singing, almost as if it was welcoming its’ Wraith back; perhaps the stained city had missed her. 

Distant chimes of the Church of Barter signalled the passing of the hour, and with it another moment of her contemplation; as if the supposed Ghezen himself was egging her along. She had spent her first day back securing her assets, and in turn, weighing her options. She had heard whispers that a certain Dirtyhands was seen on a veritable warpath earlier that evening toward the 5th Harbor; and as tempted as she was to follow, to reclaim her place in that boy’s shadow, Inej decided that waiting for him to return on his own terms would be for the best. As lucky as she was, she wasn’t sure just how far she wanted to test her luck tonight.

It seems, old habits die hard, in more ways than one. 

Her thoughts drifted to the others, their faces appearing at the forefront of her mind. She could still feel the faint pressure of their letters tucked away in one of her laced coat pockets, a silent reminder of what, or rather who, was waiting for her. In fact, a particular letter from Nina had nearly brought her to hysterics; as it detailed how the Heartrender proposed to her Druskelle, and Matthias’ ensuing indignation and anger over her lack of ‘ritual propriety’. The hands on her ship were certain that Inej had gone mad when they heard her cackles rattle vessel.

The trading port may have its faults, but the select few she could count as friends, or at the very least allies, were worth her appreciation. And while that fond reminiscence of certain parts of her time in the East Stave came to mind, Inej couldn’t help the lingering feeling of disgust that pooled within her as she looked towards the west; the red light district taunting her even from afar. She resented the fact that she still had any sort of emotional attachment to that part of her life. Time may heal all wounds, but the scars still remain. 

Her time at sea and on the distant shores of Ravka had helped, in some measurable way, to ease the roiling mass of loathing within her. Suffice to say, in the short amount of time Inej Ghafa had been away, many a slaver had learned to fear the very mention of her name. And as much as she would like to say that she didn’t take some form of enjoyment out of her new profession, that would be a lie; by each of her Saints, she just couldn’t help the grim satisfaction that would bring a small tilt up of her lips. 

Thoughts for another time, perhaps. 

Another hour passes in the breeze. 

Back curved, as if a bird itching to take wing, and midnight hair tracing a thick line down her spine in intricate braids, the girl began to wonder if Kaz would even be returning for the evening. Then again, she could wait; staying still, silent, and patient was one of her strong suits. Among many others. Wisps of apprehension prickled within her, though quickly quashed by a thin figure cutting around the bend. 

Brekker stalked his way up the steps, pausing a moment before making his way through the door; spine straightening, the fabric of his overcoat stretching taught across his shoulders. A rueful smile worked its way across Inej’s lips. This was their game, her following and him finding. With the barest of head tilts, he acknowledged her presence, as if he had been expecting her return; most likely, he had. 

With deft hands and nibble feet, she maneuvered her way off the edge; arms dangling above her in order to lower herself onto the second story balcony bellow. Silent as the shade, the double doors opened to her, the warmth of the office enveloping her. It seems that a good amount had been put into retrofitting and renovations. This room, similar to its’ partner at the Slat, was organized like any good mercher’s would be; a forgotten candle burning near the bottom of its’ wick. Stacks on stacks of paperwork paperwork littered the desk; anything from compounded debt reports to investment requests. 

He appears to have been busy in her stead. 

Situating herself along one of the window sills, Inej tracked his movements by the faint sound of his cane on the wood paneling; her hands ghosting over each of her knives. Though now was neither the time nor the place to utter their names, just knowing they were there reassured her.

As the door swung open, eyes as dark as night met her own earthen brown ones; an eyebrow lifted, tugging at a pale line of scar tissue. She waited. Finally, after a moment of hush, Kaz spoke, the low rasp of his so familiar.

“So, Miss Ghafa, what business?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support and feedback on the prologue! I'm super glad that you guys liked the premise, I have some crazy ideas rolling around in my head that I hope I can convey properly. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one, the next is going to be a slightly different format, then back to the character POVs. Comments and reviews are always appreciated. :)


	3. The Crow

When Kaz Rietveld, before Brekker but after the Original, was young, he had a crow. Its’ feathers flowed elegantly, dark and slick as oil; a piercing set of onyx eyes to match his own. Truth be told, it was the oddest of creatures; large as a hawk, and talons like the sharpest of daggers. The bird had been a gift, from Before, and the story goes that it was a wild breed from the borderlands around Shu Han. One of the few things he still had from his past life, the young boy, just reaching the age of eight, clung to it like a lifeline. In turn, the crow stuck to him; oddly silent in its protection. 

Strange as though it may be, it had no name.

Nameless.

The people in town, just outside the small village of Kij, steered clear of him whenever he happened to venture there; for where the youngest Rietveld boy went, his beast was sure to follow. Superstitions were an epidemic in the southern regions of Kerch; people often falling prey to the smallest of rumors and legends. ‘Its an omen’, ‘the boy is cursed’, ‘he’ll come for you’, they would say. At the time, being the kind of child that he was, Kaz would look to the bird for comfort; content with knowing that Jordie would be there for him when he returned to the farm. This crow helped calm him down, when he feared he would lose control of himself, being as temperamental as he was at times. 

Truly a remarkable animal.

Whenever his brother had to help tend to the crops, Kaz would hide away in the fields, crow perched upon his shoulder. The tall stalks would sway around them, bringing with it the shallow whistle of the wind. Days would pass, from sunrise to sunset, where the boy sit there; book splayed open in his lap, words flowing effortlessly from his lips. The boy had a pension for reading to his bird, spiriting novels away from Uncle Koyla’s dusty collection.

As the harvest moon rose, signaling the shifting of the seasons, Kaz laid back; rough soil biting through his thin under shirt. Bathed in iridescent light, his eyes glistened up at the starry night; constellations painting their way across the sky. It was rare that he could stay out this late before Jordie began to worry, his deep rooted protectiveness getting the better of him. To be fair, he just wanted his little brother to stay safe. Though, that night the elder had fallen asleep early. 

All the more fortunate for Kaz.

But this night was different, for something lurked at the edge of the woods; just beyond the border of the property. Had he been paying attention, the boy would have noticed it sooner. The crow did, though. Startling the child out of his fugue, its head tilted high, beak parted around a mourning caw; like a haunting scream. Taking heed of his creature’s distress, Kaz lifted himself from his resting place; heading back toward the silent home. 

A feeling of unrest coiled in his gut, the restless sensation surging within him.

A warning.

The boy did not make it back to the farm house unscathed. 

Some manner of time later, emerging from the evening shadows, Kaz Rietveld stumbled through the front door; silent as the grave. 

A darkness raged within him. 

His return must have woken Jordie, as the other boy fumbled his way down the creaking stairs. In the dim light, the older brother couldn’t hardly make anything out beyond the silhouette of his sibling. 

“Kaz,” he called out, voice clouded by sleep, “Are you alright?”

No reply.

Hands searching for the nearest lamp, soon a dull flame lit up the entryway. Jordie stopped in his tracks, heart turning to ice as he laid eyes upon his brother. Red dripped over white cotton, pooling around bare feet. Angry claw marks tracked their way across a trembling leg. Cradled between shaking hands was the form a mangled bird, feathers askew and shimmering in the candlelight. 

Before either could begin to register the other, the older Rietveld was there, shaking hands vice like upon Kaz’s shoulders. The wet fabric stained his fingers in deadly maroon. Under the fresh blood and the din of his brother’s frantic questions, the boy fell to his knees; anguished sobs finally escaping him.

Beneath that harvest moon was the last time that crow would ever draw a breath. The last time that croon would be heard. Silent. Its bones being only what remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the support! I really loved writing this chapter, and I promise that this will be important later on (*que maniacal laughter*). Please comment, cause I love hearing what you all think. 
> 
> P.S. - I would totally enjoy hearing any of your theories :)


	4. Kaz

His Spider bled out of the shadows, dark eyes tracking him as he made his entrance. Though he had felt her gaze earlier, meeting it face to face after a month of emptiness was an entirely different experience. The dull throb of pain coursing up his leg set his nerves on edge; jaw set and sight steeled. Tonight was a bad one, for his body and his mind. Foreign words, forgotten words, clawed at his tongue; wanting to be heard, but withheld in an iron vice. 

Kaz passed Inej in silence.

Waiting for an answer to his impersonal question.

Inej knew this dance as well as he did; waltzing around queries and twirling about feelings. He did hope she expected nothing less, for expectations were dangerous things. Through the years he had learned to keep them low in regards to others, and high in himself; it was how you survived. And now, facing an obstruction to his cold image, he couldn’t stop the knowing smirk that scrawled across his lips as he fell into high back seat. 

Of course she would come here.

To see him.

Perhaps it was he who sought her out, like a beacon in the dark, which was what drew her here. 

Glancing down at the papers strewn across the surface of the varnished desk, everything from business charters to patronage inquires, he landed on the silver plated box perched on the far left corner. Elegant swirls and carved feathers swept all along the borders, seamlessly crafted. His heart clenched at the sight of it, a reminder of unpleasant times past. 

“I see you’ve renovated, Mr.Brekker,” Inej murmured, jolting Kaz from his reverie. Her lilting tone and use of title hinted at underlying amusement; the sound of her foot falls nonexistent as she came before him, inky hair framing the outline of her face. 

“So it would seem,” he replied, a rough scratch across his vocal chords, “for business to thrive, marks have to have the newest features to marvel at.”

What followed was a moment of heavy aniticaption; her waiting for his next question, and him waiting to utter it. Finally, the words made their way out, “What’s brought you back to my city so soon, Inej?”

She laughed, like chimes in the wind.

“So eager to have me gone, Kaz?” the girl asked, “and since when has it been ‘your city’? If I remember correctly, the Barrel was your territory, and not the whole of Ketterdam.”

“Soon enough it will be, Barrel and city alike,” and he truly believed it. The gangs of Ketterdam were weak after the fall of the Dime Lions, the head cut from a snake. An investment here and a secret there goes a long way in his circles. All Kaz needed to do was graciously take the reins of a floundering criminal underworld. From then on the Merchant Council should be easy enough to deal with. 

He could almost feel her disapproval from where he sat; knowing that she desperately wanted to lay out some Saintly proverb about ambition for him. The way she hummed said it all. 

“To tell the truth, as I was traveling along the coast, near Ivets, there were…. Whispers, of something growing in the far east of Ravka,” Inej explained, and something indistinct began to pool within him, “The things I learned, as questionable as the sources may be, were concerning.”

Keeping his face as neutral as possible, Kaz steepled his gloved fingers, resting his sharp chin along them. “What business of it is mine? As you say, the rumors of rural Ravkans are of no concern to me; things here are my sole focus.”

As he spoke her stare never wavered, irises burning with an unknown fervor; the kind of determination that she held when she spoke of her faith. Something was wrong, and Kaz could practically feel her uncharacteristic worry in the air. He thought back to the letter, tucked away in the far depths of the drawers; the way the unmarred golden ink would stare back at him. Though it had been three days since its arrival, the unease in him shifted. 

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Coincidences got people killed.

With a narrowing of the eyes, he watched Inej slip her hand inside of a hidden pocket; fingers deftly searching. The young man’s breath caught in his chest. A flick of the wrist, and tattered bit of cloth was tossed upon his desk. 

A black void emblazoned with a glowing eclipsed moon.

“Tell me Kaz, what do you know of the Cult of the Starless Saint?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're getting going! I hope you guys are liking it so far, cause I'm having a lot of fun writing it. I'd love to hear what you think about it. :)
> 
> Also, thanks for the kudos! Peace -


	5. The Ship

On nights so dark and stormy, tumultuous winds would sing and snap at the sails of The Liberty. Her captain, Bezrodny Timurovich, was known for charting a course even when the waves churned high like mountains, and on evenings when his squallers condemned the voyage in the name of violent saints. For he took any commision that was offered, for the right price, and spat at the ones that quoted too low. 

His vessel had seen many a thing, from hundreds of crates of Suli silks and spices, to northern diplomats, or even the occasional fare of the less than legal kind. With eyes of cherry wood and a gaze iron nails, she saw everything, especially things that weren’t meant to be seen. Now, Captain Timurovich was well aware and privy to the questionable nature of his passengers; he kept a lookout, in the sense of self interest. 

It was as if the sea itself watched out for The Liberty.

If you wanted something to go unseen, this crew were the ones to do it.

Positioned about the helm, Bezrodny watched his newest patrons mill about the port side of the hammock netting, an unrestful feeling curling within him. The man’s gut was telling him something, and he knew it was best to tread carefully at its call. Such intuition was never wrong. 

Things off the eastern shores of Ravka were getting dicy; the fountain of business was beginning to run dry. That Lantsov boy was driving the economy further into the ground, rather than pulling it back to its feet. So, this commission was a golden opportunity to drag in some extra coin. Each day without a score was another day for discontent to fester within the ranks. 

A happy crew made a happy captain.

Those half a dozen cloaked figures paid no heed to the sailors around them, silent outlines focused merely on the one item they brought aboard: a massive oak case, varnished by weather and time. Perhaps it wasn’t the passengers that stirred strange sentiments in the captain, but that box; its contents unknown to any, even Bezrodny. One thing the old gull hated: not knowing something. The very thought of the unknown chafed at his grizzled nerves, many years upon the waves drilling a unique sort of caution into the man. Peeling his gaze from the oh so present guests, Bezrodny tilted back his head toward the rigging, calling out for the evening run of canteen. 

Lively chatter and rough laughs filled the mess hall as the first round of crew settled in for their evening meal. After the first few minutes of revelry, five others entered the space, faces shrouded in the low light. The captain’s sharp stare trailed their progress, the bitter bite of liquor on his lips and the taste of stale bread lingering on his tongue. Every night was the same: come in to eat, return to that crate, repeat. Except, tonight, he couldn’t help but wonder: where was the sixth man? 

Now, as was said before, Bezrodny Timurovich’s common sense was as present and cunning as the currents of the Wandering Isle, but on this evening, that amber liquid took hold of his shifting whims. The slightest drop of pure southern alcohol can loosen even the strongest of inhibitions. 

Nodding his ascent as the men ambled off to the cabins, the weary figure made his way back on deck, near the mast of the mainsail. Being the rise of the crescent phase, the captain had the job of evening watch; quartermaster would take up the post at the peak before dawn. 

Those five few had yet to return from the galley.

And this was where Bezrodny made his greatest mistake: not following his nightly routine of scanning the books before manning the helm. 

The shallow winds of dusk had long since turned to howling gales, the rumble of thunder echoing across the obscured horizon. Under the soon-to-be covered moonlight, the crate lay in a motionless vigil. After a moment of circular contemplation, the captain made his way towards the cargo, a sullen creak emanating from each step. The man’s calloused and scarred hand reached out, fingers brushing against the smooth wood. 

Then, the sixth man.

Out of the dark corners of the Liberty.

Captain Bezrodny had not the time to reach for his cutlass as the hooked dagger tore from sternum to navel. Lightning cracked across the sky, golden streaks reflecting in his gaze. Long gone was the taste of that spiced drink. Licks of red iron poured from his lips, no room for little more than a surprised gasp; the thud of his knees upon the deck planks resonating in the evening hours. 

Here Bezrodny Timurovich would face the one storm he couldn’t conquer, and, just maybe, he wasn’t as sea-hardened and brave as he thought himself to be; this sailor had no desire to die. Blurred vision latching onto the attacker’s face, he met that mismatched gaze; one eye a pale green, with the other a scarred and unseeing grey. 

One hand clenched around a lock of ebony hair.

As the world began to tilt, the captain felt the edges of darkness clawing at him.

In the distance, a sea hawk crooned.

“I pray for you, son of the light, for I seek the shadows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, I had a couple of intense weeks working on applications. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and the formatting of the story so far. Thank you again for all the kudos. Please leave any ideas or reviews in the comments!  
:)


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